


Kiss a Little More, Think a Little Less

by Abydosorphan



Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 12:30:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10594065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abydosorphan/pseuds/Abydosorphan
Summary: My thoughts on how things should have transpired post Special Master Part 2.Exceptional thanks go out to RaydorCakes for the beta.





	

Sharon Raydor leans a bit more onto the counter as she pours the not-often-indulged-in third glass of wine for the evening. Truth be told, she rarely ever refills the first.

Tonight is different. Tonight she needs the alcohol to relax her in a way that her body is incapable of doing on its own. 

A good workout might help, but that brings in too many logistics and concerns when it comes to arranging a protective detail and SWAT has enough to be concerned of with Rusty, never mind her. There is another option -- one that she finds her mind considering more frequently -- she'd like to be able to blame it on the wine, but she knows it happens when she's perfectly sober and knee deep in a gruesome case for any explanation that she's willing to consider at the moment. But it doesn’t stop the idea of Lieutenant 

Andrew Flynn from coming to mind.

They're _not_ dating.

Looking back a few years it's almost hard to believe they're even friends. Good friends. Good friends who enjoy each other's company. But they're definitely _not_ dating.

_Several times a month._ Rusty’s voice sing-songs in her mind, accompanied by her daughter’s suggestion that maybe they’re just _‘friends with benefits’_. The idea of those possible benefits doing nothing to calm her thoughts.

She sighs as she places the bottle down and replaces the stopper. The steady beat of the music coming from Rusty's room keeping her in check, if only slightly.

She thought they were past this. Thought everything was finally being put behind them when it came to this case. Stroh should be rotting away in a jail cell on death row -- if she hadn't been able to put a bullet between his eyes already -- as far as she was concerned. Instead, he’s in the wind. Could probably be on the other side of the world by now, considering the elaborate plan Markos Christakis said Stroh laid out for him. And the thought of him out and plotting God-knows-what has her blood boiling the more she thinks about it.

She needs to burn off this anger… this energy. And since no other option seems to be presenting itself, and the protective detail is assigned to her apartment - mainly for Rusty, but Chief Taylor had insisted that she use them as well; it wouldn't be the first time Stroh had gone after her – she stands here and contemplates her glass. 

She takes a sip of the Moscato, letting it sit in her mouth, before she slowly swallows. It might be her third glass, but that doesn't mean she isn't going to savor it.

She contemplates calling someone. Rolls her eyes as imagines of the field day Gavin would have speaking to her in her current state flitters through her mind. Andrea would just defend the steps that Rios was taking to secure the deal – whether she agreed with them or not - and the only thing that would come of that would be a heated discussion and the possible destruction of Sharon’s wine glass. That was the last thing she wanted.

She has no desire to open any portion of her life to Jackson anymore. She’s finally comfortable with the way she has excised him from her as much as one can after a relationship that has lasted as long as her adult life and resulted in two wonderful children. Neither of whom she wishes to involve in these details.

And then there’s Andy. 

If she's honest with herself, she wants to call him, wants to vent and confide and possibly even cry on his shoulder. She’s known Andy Flynn almost as long as she’s been with the LAPD. Being friends with him was not something she expected to come as easily as it has. Maybe that should have been her first warning. Because now they seem to be in this state of limbo.

She was happy with the way things were going before this whole confusion issue with Nicole, and Rusty certainly hadn’t helped matters. Now that the whole thing has been brought to light, she finds herself second guessing every casual touch, moving away from him in the squad room, and yet she’d contemplated kissing him at the Christmas party. The lines of comfortable friendship are blurred – more than likely have been for a while – and she’s missing the comfortable intimacy that she’d been enjoying and ignoring all at the same time.

Sharon sighs into her glass and savors another sip of the Moscato. Wishing, not for the first time, for a slightly more simplified take on things.

The knock interrupting her thoughts is so faint she almost wonders if she is imagining it. Looking at the clock, she narrows down the list of likely suspects on the other side, and considering the protective detail in the lobby of her building only helps to narrow the list further.

Opening the door and forcing a smile at the man who topped the list, Sharon momentarily freezes. In their line of work she has seen a variety of emotions cross a person's face in the matter of an instant. Right now, Andrew Flynn looks like he is ready to break something.

"Is everything all right, Lieutenant?" she steps back and allows him to enter. Her fuzzy thoughts clearing slightly as she expects to be told that Stroh has been spotted in the area or some credible threat has been uncovered. What she does not expect, what she has an issue wrapping her mind around, is the way his lips feel against hers as he presses her into the door as it closes.

His hands are firm at her waist and her wine glass is trapped between them, her hand still curled around its stem. She's suddenly regretting the amount she's had to drink because she knows her senses are dulled and he's thrown her with his actions; she's buzzed and stunned and not normally one to be a passive participant. Her free hand is wrapping its way around his neck, her nails dallying through the hair at his nape, as he nips at her lower lip and gains entrance.

She moans deep in her throat and feels his fingers dig into her hips a little bit harder. Her nails scrape his neck lightly and she pulls his lip between her teeth without a thought.

"Sharon? I thought I heard the... Oh."

She jumps and feels the wine spill as heat rushes to her cheeks and her pulse races like it did the first time she was caught by her parents kissing a boy. The bemused look on Andy's face as he runs a hand through his hair and takes a step away from her does not help matters in the slightest.

"Rusty! Um... this, uh, this is not..." she's trying to motion between her and Andy and on some level realizes how utterly ridiculous they look and gives up with a defeated sigh.

"Riiiiiight." Rusty's tone would sound more condescending if it weren't for the fact that he's leaning casually against the wall grinning from ear to ear.

Andy at least has the good sense to look embarrassed before he turns and walks into the kitchen. For a moment she's not sure if she should follow after him, or thank him for giving them a minute. She straightens and places the wine glass down on the table by the door, wondering how badly her wine seeped through her blouse.

“Rusty, I….” she looks up and has to smile at the sparkle in his eyes as he watches her. He knows she’s feeling awkward as hell and he’s relishing every second of it. She wants to choke him for a second, but at the same time she knows that had their positions been reversed she would probably be the same way. 

She steps toward him and opens her arms in a small symbol of defeat. “I don’t know what this is anymore.”

Rusty’s smile fades slightly, but he nods his head as he pushes off the wall. “I get it.” His words are soft, and full of more understanding then she should want from someone his age. “I’m going to grab a drink and head to bed.” He moves to walk past her and into the kitchen, pausing right next to her and lowering his voice further as he adds, “but I say go for it.”

The twinkle she sees in his eye is more mischievous than she thinks he should be allowed, and she feels more heat rushing to her cheeks. In all the years that she was estranged from Jack, she never let her children see her dating another man, much less kissing one.

Andy exits the kitchen seconds after Rusty enters and for a fleeting moment she wonders if he planned to avoid her son that way, he carries a moist towel and hands it to her, awkwardly motioning for her to look at her blouse.

The wet spot she finds there is not nearly as bad as she thought it would be, and a few dabs from the towel seem to take care of it. She's thankful, not for the first time, that she prefers white over red most of the time. She dabs it a few extra times to make sure -- and to give her hands something to do while she wastes a little time, settles her pounding heart.

She finally hazards a glance in Andy's direction, smiling when she sees how nervous he looks. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, his head down examining some imaginary spot on the ground that he's become very interested in.

Sharon starts to move and he jumps a bit. She smiles, placing a hand comfortingly on his arm. "I'm going to put on some tea."

He gives her a sheepish smile but follows as she retrieves the wine glass and walks into the kitchen.

Rusty's head is firmly ensconced in the refrigerator and Sharon shakes her head as she fills the kettle. He closes the door and she watches out of the corner of her eye as he slowly looks between her and Andy and then smiles again.

"Okay... I'm going to bed, but I'm going to listen to some music for a while. With my headphones on."

Her head spins a little faster than she means for it to and for a second she's afraid the room might follow suit. The brilliant smile Rusty flashes before dashing down the hall makes her smile and blush and she feels a weight lift. Not just because Rusty seems more than okay with this new development, but also because it seems to be taking his mind off of the other things going on right now.

Andy is quiet behind her, though knowing him like she does, she's sure he's not nearly as embarrassed and more than adequately amused by the situation. She sighs as she places the kettle on the burner and tries to figure out a way to break the mostly-comfortable silence that has descended upon them in Rusty's absence.

Almost immediately, his hands are on her shoulders squeezing the muscles tight. Her surprised gasp quickly turns into a low moan as his fingers knead the muscles of her neck and shoulders. She's not sure why she's never had him do this before, but now that she knows his hands are gods in their own right, she may never let him leave without this   
again.

His fingers concentrate on a particularly tight spot just below the base of her neck and she lets her head fall back against his chest. She moans again as she feels the tension lessen under his ministrations, jumping when his lips brush against her earlobe.

"I tried to stay away, Sharon. I didn't want to spring this on you, but I couldn't sit at home alone." His head dips to her shoulder, his lips glancing along the skin just behind her ear.

A shiver travels down her spine, and she raises her hand to squeeze one of his at her shoulder. "I just couldn't stand sitting at home with Stroh out there. Thinking about whatever he's planning." This time the kiss to her neck is firm, more sure of himself. "Especially after last time. I just knew you'd be here doing the same."

Sharon hums in her throat. She is more acutely aware tonight than she probably ever has been that the future is unknown to all of them. The rules stickler in her wants to run for the hills and avoid any chance of impropriety, but she's not playing by the rules tonight. She's deciding that, when it comes to Andy, the rules are overrated and she wants to ignore labels and simply enjoy him.

She turns in his embrace, mindful of the hot cooktop behind her, and looks him in the eye for the first time since he walked in the door. The depth of emotion she sees there startles her. She knew they were skirting a fine line -- or at least she was telling herself that -- but from the look she sees it's obvious that he crossed over that line a long while ago.

Her breath catches as he leans down and kisses her again. The heat and urgency of their previous kiss is still there, but more subdued, more controlled. She hums in the back of her throat and his hands grip at her hips almost painfully.

He breaks away from her and takes a step back. "I'm sorry." His voice is barely above a whisper, his eyes downcast.

Sharon's hand comes up to stop him. "Don't." She steps forward and lays the hand against his chest, tilting her head so she can look him in the eye. More than anything right now she needs for him to understand. "Don't you dare apologize."

His arms wrap around her and pull her in for a crushing hug. His head rests atop hers and she is well and truly surrounded by him. The smell of his aftershave, the leather of his jacket. She's not sure if it's him, the wine or a combination of the two that has her head spinning as she wraps her arms around him.

Her eyes are closed and she can feel his heartbeat beneath her ear. His hand stroking up and down her back is in perfect sync with it. She hums against his chest. She's not going to cry, she's not going to allow Phillip Stroh to get to her that much this time. Instead she takes several deep, cleansing breaths and immerses herself in the moment.

A kiss to the side of her head brings a smile to her face and she squeezes Andy just a little bit tighter, nuzzling his chest for a moment. She tilts her head back, looking in his eyes again, trying to find the words to convey to him what she wants. The howl from her teapot interrupts her thoughts and she jumps.

Andy smiles, leaving a hand on her arm like he is just as afraid of losing contact as she is, and sidesteps her to pour the two cups she prepared.

Sharon closes her eyes and tilts her head back letting out a long, slow breath. She can’t seem to find her footing tonight and just as it seems she might be gaining some traction, there’s another interruption to throw a new kink in the fold of a series of events that, under normal circumstances, she would insist should not be happening. 

She feels Andy trace his fingers down her arm till the back of his hand briefly brushes against the back of hers before his touch vanishes completely. Immediately, she feels the loss and wonders just how much she has been deluding herself.

Turning toward him, she smiles. Andy is leaning casually against her counter, a cup of tea up to his lips as he gently blows on the hot liquid, his other hand outstretched handing her a cup of her own.

She’s almost afraid to take it, not sure she can trust her hands with the task of holding the cup without spilling any. Her nerves have been shot, between buildings engulfed in flames while her team is still inside, chasing down Christakis, and dealing with Rios and Stroh, her workload has her on edge. Add in the fact of Stroh’s escape and the ever-changing developments in the evolving relationship she has before her, and she feels more off-balance than she ever did coming home from a long day at work to an exhausted sitter, a crying baby, and a note from her absent husband. She carefully takes the cup from him, placing it on the counter to cool a bit.

Her hands grip the edge of the counter and she takes a slow, steadying breath.

Andy is staring at his shoes, tension setting in his shoulders and along his jaw with each passing moment that she remains silent. Sharon knows he’s getting strung out and she’s trying to figure out how to express what she wants to say, but nothing seems to be adequate, nothing seems to work for what she’s feeling.

Sharon tilts her head back to stare at the ceiling before opening her mouth.

“Look, Sharon, I….” he pushes away from the counter and places the cup down a little more forcefully than necessary, his other hand running through his hair in a telltale attempt to release some of his pent up nervousness and frustration.

It makes her smile, but it also gives her the nudge that she’s been looking for.

“We’ll have to report this to Taylor, of course.” her voice is low even to her own ears, and for a moment she’s unsure if he didn’t hear her, or isn’t sure of what she’s referring to -- as if they had any other elephants sitting in the middle of her kitchen that would need to be reported to the man.

“Sharon?”

She tilts her head to the side and smiles, shyly. “The change in our relationship status.”

Andy is next to her before she can consciously register his movements and she wonders for a brief moment if it’s him or the wine that’s gone straight to her head. His hand cups her head with a gentleness she’s not sure she’s ever felt before. “You’re sure?”

She sees the myriad of emotions pass through his eyes again, and this time she can pinpoint it exactly… fear. He’s afraid of her answer. Her bottom lip is briefly trapped between her teeth before she nods. “I’m sure.”

This time the kiss is more determined. He’s not simply kissing her for the sake of kissing her, it’s more like he’s claiming her as his, and she’d never say it out loud, but there’s a small part of her that is thrilled by that thought. Then his tongue runs along the top of her mouth and she moans deep in her throat. She can tell that this could get out of hand very easily, so much so that she almost wants it to, but better sense has her pulling back, slowly. Tonight has been a huge step forward for them, but she’s not willing to completely take the plunge just yet. They’ve got time, and she needs to get her head wrapped around this. Preferably before Rusty winds up innocently coming out of his room for another glass of water to find her perched on her kitchen counter with her legs wrapped around her Lieutenant.

She moves half a step back and rests her forehead against his, catching her breath but not leaving the intimacy of his personal space.

“Andy….”

“I know…”

He kisses the tip of her nose this time, before leaning down and placing a light, chaste kiss to her lips that holds so much promise. She hums into a smile, and squeezes the wrist of the hand currently resting between her neck and her shoulder, his fingers toying with a lock of her hair. 

“We should finish our tea.”

He nods as he takes a step back, reaching for both of their cups. “Would you prefer the couch or the balcony?”

Her smile fades as thoughts of the balcony bring forth a litany of rules that the protective detail went over with her and Rusty -- and while the thought of Stroh with a sniper rifle seems ludicrous, she can’t discount the fact that he go that far given everything else they’ve been through.

Andy’s hand moves to cup her chin and tilt her face toward his, before flashing a cocky smile. “The couch it is.”

She smiles and huffs out a laugh. If someone told her he could read her mind, she’s not sure that she would doubt it at this point, and that thought almost brings a blush to her cheeks. She follows him, sits down on the couch and curls her legs under her as he sits in the corner and opens his arm for her.

As she leans into him she thinks that this shouldn’t feel so natural, and yet she wonders why she’s never done this before in the same instant. His arm closes around her and pull her even closer, her head coming to rest on his shoulder and for the first time since she left Judge Schaeffer’s chambers upon finding his body, she feels like she can relax, just a little bit. Her eyes close and she hums low in her throat as she settles into him just a little bit more. 

“It’s okay, Sharon. I’m not going anywhere.” Andy whispers against her forehead as she feels him reaching for the remote, and she smiles, nodding her head minutely.

“If I hear one headline, we’re over.” She whispers, surprised to hear him chuckle quietly.

“I won’t even check the scores.”

She shifts briefly against him, her mind a whirlwind as always, and wonders what the protection detail downstairs will think if he doesn’t leave her apartment for the night. Then she recalls, exactly who the people are sitting in the lobby of her building, standing vigil, and decides that breakfast croissants from the bakery around the corner, with the really good coffee, should be enough of a thank you to buy their discretion. After all, she has a meeting scheduled with Chief Taylor in the morning anyway. She’ll just add one little item to the agenda.


End file.
